The Administration Series (241 page)

"Huh?"

Warrick smiled fleetingly. "After you told me that Kate had been arrested, I came here. I found a number on her computer and sent a message to Citizen Surveillance to say she was in trouble. Someone who looked not unlike this man arrived at SimTech later that evening. He was the one who arranged her release."

Damn it, he
knew
he should have asked Warrick more about Kate. "Why the hell was he at the school?" Then he regretted the question. He could think of a dozen reasons, all very unhealthy, but what he really needed was a way to kill the whole conversation before —

"We have find out who he is."

Fuck. Too fucking late. "Whoa. Hang on a minute." He grabbed for the first distraction that came to mind — something from the list of leading questions for witnesses. "How sure are you it's the same man?"

"Well . . . " Warrick hesitated, studying the sketch. Toreth smiled to himself. Ask a witness that and they always started looking at the differences, not the similarities they were fixed on earlier.

"Moderately sure," Warrick said at length. "But not one hundred percent, I admit. Or even . . . it is only a sketch."

"Right. So you want to go looking for trouble because you
think
this guy looks like someone you met for, what, twenty minutes? Did he tell you his name?"

"No, he didn't. But . . . " Warrick trailed off, frowning thoughtfully.

"What?"

"Someone else might know," Warrick said slowly.

"Who?"

"Didn't you say that Carnac had a copy of Kate's security file? If the man I met was involved in handling her, wouldn't that be recorded? Then we could compare the handlers to — " He pointed to the sketch.

"I don't remember seeing handlers' names. But then I wasn't close reading for detail." Being too worried at the time about looming humiliation and death. "So, yeah, they could be. But I don't have the file."

"Carnac may well have, though."

"Oh, no. No fucking way."

"The idea doesn't appeal to me either." Anger flattened Warrick's voice. "If I never spoke to the man again it would be no loss."

"Fuck. Shit." Toreth gave it twenty seconds' thought and still couldn't convince himself, even if stopping the end of the world depended on it. "I can't. If I lay eyes on the bastard again, I won't be responsible for my fucking actions."

"I wasn't suggesting that you go." Warrick sounded horrified. "I'll speak to him."

"Go? Hang on. To fucking Strasbourg?"

"Of course. I can hardly ask him for a file like that over the comm, can I?"

"There has to be a way of getting a secure message — " Toreth shook his head sharply. How the hell had they ended up discussing this as if finding a starting point for raiding Cit Surveillance files was a desirable thing? "Not Carnac." He gritted his teeth and forced the word out, hoping it would be enough. "Please."

Warrick's eyes widened briefly in surprise, and Toreth didn't know whether to be glad or not that the plea had had the desired impact.

"Very well," Warrick said. "So what do you suggest? There has to be another way."

"There's no need to rush into things. We don't even know whether we need to do anything at all."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "Whether?"

"Even if he
is
the same man you saw at SimTech, we've no proof he was behind it. Maybe he was hoping to stop it and didn't get there in time. If he rescued Kate, there's no reason to assume right off that he'd try to kill Tarin. Or it could be a complete coincidence. Aren't you the one who always says the world's full of coincidences? We haven't even heard from the Transport investigation yet — it could easily have been a genuine accident. Let's not start kicking wasps' nests until we've got a reason to, huh?"

Warrick stared at the drawing for a long moment, as if hoping it would speak. Then his head lifted and he nodded slowly. "That's sensible, I suppose."

"Good. A few days, that's all I need." Toreth folded the sketch and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Wanting to distract Warrick, he asked, "How did things go at the hospital?"

"You were right yesterday — I wish I hadn't gone in to see him." He leaned his head back against the chair and sighed, then added quietly, "And I wish you'd been there today."

Meaning, maybe, come with me next time. Tarin would probably be better company than usual at the moment, but the idea of the flotation tank was too much.

"No, you don't," Toreth said. Warrick turned his head and started to say something, but Toreth carried on over him, wanting to get the conversation over with. "Not unless you wanted the distraction of me throwing up all over the room, which is what I'd have done. It's the tank."

Warrick's face cleared. "Of course. I'm sorry. I ought to have remembered."

"You've got other stuff to think about." In a way, it was a relief that his stupid loss of control in the Jacuzzi hadn't made a bigger impression.

Warrick didn't say anything more, so after a while Toreth said, "We had to interrogate a witness in a tank once, after a resister bombing. She had chemical burns, vapor damage to her lungs."

"Really?" Curiosity surfaced. "How did you manage it?"

"They woke her up in the tank and we asked the questions through a nerve-induction earpiece. She did have one good hand, so she typed the answers for us. She kept choking on the — " He swallowed. "Before we started the interview, I went to the toilet and stuck my fingers down my throat. Then I took an anti-nausea shot. I still spent the whole three hours one breath away from puking on the floor. She died a couple of days later. Systemic poisoning. So what did the doctors conclude about Tarin?"

"Nothing, so far." Warrick looked up at the ceiling again. "The choice is simple enough. They can carry on the treatment, or they can let him die. It wouldn't take long. The doctor we spoke to said they're struggling to keep him going as it is. Even if he makes it through the next few days, there's a strong possibility he could die later if they can't suppress the infections. He'll require constant medical support for . . . well, a long time. In the very unlikely event that he pulls through, it will take months of treatment before he can leave the hospital. Not just skin replacement — muscle groups, some organs." Warrick swallowed. "His hands. They couldn't make any firm long-term predictions; they haven't been able to assess him conclusively for brain damage yet. Although that was the one thing they were optimistic about."

Sounded like a hell of a lot of hassle and expense to go through for someone you didn't like. Warrick had stopped talking, so Toreth asked, "What did you tell them?"

"Nothing. Philly is his registered next of kin — they're technically still married and they never changed it after the legal separation. But she wants Dilly and me to decide. I think she wants us to let him go, but she can't make herself say it because of Val. And I just don't know what to do. I don't — " He stopped dead, then looked round. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I'm sure you're not interested."

"No, carry on. I don't mind." This was just what he needed to know to predict if the potential killer might feel the need to follow up his first attack.

"I didn't know Tar well enough to even begin to guess how he'd feel about it. It would be much easier if Tar had left any indications of what he'd want — " Warrick shook his head. "I have no room to talk. I've done nothing like that either, even though the SimTech legal department asked me to."

"I have," Toreth said. "Not much, but enough for that. About all it is good for. I've got a whatsit — patient directive — in my medical file, saying that they can't put me in a flotation tank. Under any circumstances. Full body burns, whatever.
I'm
never going in one of those fucking things."

"But — "

"They knock you out. I know. But knowing it's possible . . . no. It's the idea of them fucking up the sedation. Of waking up in there. It happens. The odds are one in a thousand, maybe, but I'd rather die. Isn't that stupid?"

"Actually, yes."

Toreth ignored him. "Your lungs are full of the stuff they put in the tank, and you're breathing it. The water — the supportive fluid for burns to the lungs. Can't speak, can't move — odds are the sedation would wear off before the muscle relaxant. They might not even notice you'd come round. You'd be — "

With difficulty, he forced himself to shut up before he talked himself into a full-blown panic attack. Not looking at Warrick, he drank the cooling tea, trying to clear his mouth of imagined saltiness. What would flotation tank fluid taste like? Beyond the basics, flavour was mostly scent. Could you taste at all if your nose was full of liquid?

"I wouldn't let it happen," Warrick said suddenly.

Toreth blinked at him, lost.

"If the alternative was that you'd be dead or crippled, you'd go in the tank. I have very good lawyers — they'd force the hospital to treat you while they found a way to tear the directive to shreds." He stood up and shrugged. "I'm sorry, but that's what would happen. If it's any consolation, in the very unlikely event of it ever being an issue I promise I'd have the sedation constantly monitored. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to talk to Dillian about what we're going to tell the doctors tomorrow."

Toreth stared after him, too surprised even to protest.

What the hell did Warrick think it had to do with him? He had no right to make any announcements like that. Sara had been Toreth's registered next of kin for years. In a crunch, she'd probably give in to Warrick, though, which was a thought he didn't like.

Of course, once they were cohabitees, registered sexual partners, boxes ticked and forms filed at the DoP, that would give Warrick some say in things. Toreth didn't recall offhand if it included next-of-kin rights, but it might. He didn't like that either, any more than he liked the idea of things being the other way round, of being responsible for Warrick. Corporates made targets too, so it wasn't impossible that —

Toreth shook his head. What a morbid bloody train of thought. What he needed was a drink.

The next morning Valeria proved unexpectedly useful by announcing that she wanted to go back to school. Toreth offered to drop her off on his way back into town. It had the double advantage of reducing the chance of his visit to the school ringing warning bells and of pissing Dillian off beautifully.

In fact, Dillian was still trying to think up reasons why he couldn't do it when he loaded Valeria into the taxi. Toreth climbed in behind her and closed the door firmly.

"Wave to your auntie Dillian," he prompted as the car set off.

Valeria knelt up on the seat and waved out of the back window; Toreth added a wave of his own from behind her. Dillian waved back, looking ready to punch something, and Toreth hoped Warrick was out of the line of fire.

Valeria sat down, and Toreth opened his hand screen and started reading. With luck the kid could take a hint.

"Why doesn't Auntie Dilly like you?" Valeria asked after a minute.

Because she's a bitch. Or just possibly because she's got a huge fucking hard-on for her brother and she hates that I'm the one who's fucking him. "What makes you think she doesn't like me?"

She didn't manage to hide the snort of laughter. "She's not very nice to you?"

"It's not that she doesn't like
me
. She just doesn't like my job."

"Why?"

Toreth thought it over. "Okay. At school, do you like the strict teachers, or the teachers who let you piss about and misbehave in class?"

She giggled. "I like the nice teachers."

"Right. Well, part of my job is like being a teacher for grownups. I make sure that citizens don't misbehave, and I try to catch them if they do. So a lot of people don't like us."

That seemed to make sense to her. After a moment, Toreth returned his attention to the screen. However, the silence didn't last very long.

"Does Auntie Dilly think you should let people misbehave?"

"Not quite." Toreth sighed and closed the hand screen. Suddenly, this cover story for getting into the school didn't seem like such a great plan. "Look, you know it's a bad idea to say some things?"

"Like what?"

"Like, you don't think the Administration is a good thing. Don't you have citizenship classes?"

"Oh, yes. On Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays."

"So they tell you the Administration's a good thing, right? That you should do what the Administration says. 'The government is best that — " He frowned. Pity he'd skipped so many of his own citizenship lessons at her age. "Right. 'The government is best that ensures the greatest security for the greatest number'." Or something like that.

She nodded. "But Mr McVade said last week that sometimes we have to think about things for ourselves and decide if they're good or bad."

Toreth raised an eyebrow. Teachers spreading sedition? There was a snippet of info that might come in handy. "Fine. But I bet he didn't say that before there was all the trouble in the city, did he? Before that, he said you should trust that the Administration knows what's best and don't ask questions, didn't he?"